Agents
by emily.down
Summary: Molly is working for Mycroft as a special agent. One-shots about their whacky adventures and mismatched relationship. R&R if you're into it.
1. Chapter 1

_Yep, this is exactly what it looks like. Leave a comment :)  
_

_1: Christmas_

After Sherlock Holmes walked out of the room that Christmas night, disgusted and miserable at having seen the Woman lying dead-cold on a morgue table like a piece of meat, his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes turned his attention towards attendant Molly Hooper, who was doing a good job of avoiding his eyes.

"So then, dead as a doornail?" he asked grimly, tracing the outline of the body with his umbrella.

Molly shrugged, looked out towards the hallway to see if Sherlock was in earshot and then softly pushed Mycroft's umbrella away.

"I can't really say right now."

Mycroft's eyebrows flinched visibly. "You cannot say right now?"

"There's solid proof it's her, all right. But I'd still wait. There's something _fixed_ about this."

Mycroft almost chuckled. "Is there? It seems you've been training your medical eye."

Molly gave him a look, but didn't dare say anything back, knowing he liked to make such comments whenever it was most uncomfortable.

"I would advise you to keep looking for her, Sir. Just in case," she said, growing impatient under his stare.

"I do appreciate cautionary measures. Especially from someone not inclined to give them."

Molly knew what this was about, but she had hoped it would be forgotten, under the circumstances.

"The irony isn't lost on me, if that's what you mean, but one case of so-called recklessness which I have not and will not confess to, does not mean I cannot give valid suggestions on this matter," she replied in a much more poised manner than she had spoken to him on the phone some hours before.

* * *

"What is it now, Carlyle? I'm late so make it fast!" Molly snapped as she held her work phone under her chin, balancing a heavy-looking dress.

"I suppose you will find the time to explain why exactly you sent three checks to Lewis B. under false names which were as traceable as your lack of common sense," a clipped voice answered back without a pause.

Molly dropped the dress completely. Mycroft Holmes was giving her a personal call.

_Shit_. This meant it was serious.

Five minutes later they were caught up in a furious verbal match.

"That was explicitly made to be confidential and I took every possible measure to ensure that, Italian or no Italian embassy– if anyone's at fault here it's your precious assistant, Anthea!..Sir."

"Hardly professional of you to bring her up in this context, not to mention petty," he replied acridly.

"Lewis was my guy! He was the initiator of the group! I have every right to arrange matters with him any way I see fit, without having to worry that some sociopath with a Blackberry obsession will want to exact her revenge!"

This was very unlike Molly; snapping at Mycroft so boldly and throwing personal insults.

But she had gotten fed up with Anthea and her cheap tricks.

The conversation ended very badly. Mycroft even called her chronically paranoid. She had been making such remarks about Anthea for a while now.

The thing is, the girl had tried to kill her. Sure, it had only been an accident. Everyone had told her so. But everyone was stupid.

"I have to go to your brother's party, Sir. Molly Hooper can't appear to be disinterested in anything Sherlock-related, can she?" she droned angrily, sticking her feet into her heels.

But Mycroft had already hung up.

She was talking into a dead line. Well, it was still something.

* * *

"I hear you put on quite a show tonight," Mycroft commented slyly, looking over Irene's body with disinterest.

"Well, when you messaged me with "DISTRACT SHERLOCK" in capital letters there was little else left to do."

"Really? _That_ is what you came up with? A soap opera re-enactment?"

Molly's eyes narrowed down. "I would have given him a little bit of side-boob but that would be too desperate, wouldn't it?"

Mycroft almost chuckled.

"And you were not letting out some pent-up frustrations from our earlier discussion?"

Molly knew where this argument was headed.

"Even if you are going to say that my personal problems are interfering with my work, or that I'm getting too emotional– well, no, I'm not. Clearly, I did my job perfectly. This is exactly how Molly would have reacted in real life and it served its purpose. If I tried to channel my so-called frustrations into something else instead of work, it would cause a lot more damage."

Mycroft rolled his eyes in his 'If-I-had-a-penny' manner and remained silent.

"Yes, yes, but you know I'm partially right. It's what we do," Molly added, covering Irene's body once more.

"You are lucky I am in no mood for semantics," he muttered in what she perceived to be an amused tone.

But he was constantly amused about everything, so she knew he was still angry with her about Lewis and Anthea.

"I'll go see about Sherlock. I hope she hasn't done too much damage," he said, nodding his head towards the corpse.

"He's Sherlock. He'll bottle it up and take it out on John. Just offer him a cigarette. See if he takes it," she offered, shrugging her shoulders.

Mycroft paused at the door.

"By the by, where in God's name did you find that tacky dress?"

"I know, brilliant, wasn't it?" she chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

_New chapter because I'm random. So many thanks to the people who appreciate this pairing: **katdemon18, Lilin08, TadPole11, maharet97** (did you just give me an amazing idea for a crossover? yes, you did. brilliant)  
_

_2: Voyeur_

Molly had almost fallen asleep on the roof. It was well past 4 AM and she had had a busy shift at the morgue that night. But no matter, real sleep could wait. She was going to get real proof that Irene was alive and well (and frolicking with his beloved Anthea) so she could stick it into Mycroft's smarmy face.

She had taken a couple of blurry shots so far, but she needed one up close.

So far, Anthea and Adler had just been sitting, chatting idly in the latter's low-profile hotel living room, whiling away the time serenely.

Molly was waiting for more interesting things to happen.

Irene was already stretching out tiredly, tipping her wine glass over the table with no intention of getting into serious business at that hour.

Surely enough, she took Anthea by the hand and led her into her bedroom.

Molly knew Mycroft's assistant was freaky. She might enjoy the Adler treatment.

She prepared her camera with a sense of childish eagerness.

_Shit_. The blinds in the bedroom were pulled over. How would she get a shot of Anthea hunched between Irene's legs? There's no point in witnessing submissive lesbian sex if there's no clear view.

She got a desperate idea.

She took out her gun and shot in the air a couple of times. Sherlock wasn't the only one allowed to do it.

Knowing Irene, she'd come running to the window before she could count back from three.

And she did. Right on schedule.

_Phew_.

Irene looked out to the dark expanse of the city and scanned it worriedly. She was wearing a flimsy green gown and nothing underneath. Molly could tell.

Now...if she only left the curtains slightly parted, she was sure her professional camera could get a picture.

Even better! Anthea had come to the window as well, just as concerned. She was in her underwear and black tank top. She rested her chin on Irene's shoulder and bit into it. Molly snapped her camera.

_Oooh, Mycroft will be so pleased_, she thought wistfully.

_But what if he says Anthea's personal life is not our business? No, he's not that proud. He made a mistake. Anthea's working and sleeping with the enemy. There's no going around that._

She smiled victoriously.

She had to get away soon. The police would be coming after those gun shots.

* * *

Running through the city in her fluffy coat, holding the camera in her pocket, a childish rucksack draped over her bag, she started humming to herself happily. This Christmas was turning out to be spectacular.

She'd go home, download those high-definition photos and send them via mail to Mycroft. She'd send some to his phone too, for good measure.

As she crossed the street and turned a corner towards her neighbourhood she felt a familiar presence somewhere above her. She could always tell when he was around.

Molly sighed. He was such an oddball. He never slept. He rarely talked to her. He just liked to run around town with his classy assault rifle, playing terrorist spy and whatnot.

He rarely worked for anyone. Although she'd heard rumours of a new boss.

Molly dialed his number, inspecting the rooftops over her head.

She was hoping this was still _his_ number. For the month that is.

"Come on, pick up Moran...pick up..."

He finally answered.

"Don't hang up. I've got cool photos. Irene and Anthea playing around naked. Come on, you must be a little bit curious."

She heard a gruff from the other line and he hung up. It was always the same. He followed her around, never making up his mind whether to shoot her or not and she'd call him and he'd answer and keep silent all throughout.

Maybe he had smiled this time around.

Molly shook her head amused and entered her apartment building.

* * *

Eating left-over pasta, sitting at her laptop, Molly made a nice little passworded folder for Mycroft to look over and appreciate in detail.

_"Something that might spice up the evenings, Sir. No hard feelings."_ - she wrote in her email to him.

Yes, bold, but Molly knew he wouldn't have it any other way. She was helplessly childish. In fact, her Molly Hooper persona was not far-off.

Three minutes passed.

New email from Mycroft.

_Not my cup of tea, Hooper. Not even yours. But you win. Christmas is ruined now. _

Molly grinned like an idiot.

She stared at the message for a while. Should she call her boss? Maybe he needed further details. Maybe she needed to come in to establish what was to be done with Anthea.

It was quite late for that though. She just wanted to turn in.

Her phone buzzed again.

_SEND THOSE PHOTOS- Moran_


End file.
